You Found Me
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: You got some kind of nerve, takin’ all that I want. Oneshot. Drama. Nick/Greg. Slash. Greg’s POV. Post GD.


**Author's Note: **Uh, yeah. I'm back, I guess. Miss me? Heh, I doubt it. =] Anyways, hope you enjoy this.

Oneshot. Drama. Nick/Greg. Slash. Greg's POV. Post GD.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own 'em, but I wish I did. The beautiful song is, as stated, by The Fray.

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks, as always, to Amanda for editing my stories. And I'd also like to thank her for trying to keep me interested in CSI, and for tempting me to write fanfics again. I love you, A-man-duh.

**Summary: **You got some kind of nerve, takin' all that I want.

**You Found Me  
**

Greg couldn't sleep. He forced himself to lie still, forced his heavy eyelids to close and cover his exhausted eyes, forced his mind to slow down, but it didn't last. His eyes, inevitably, flicked open, and his mind accelerated from 0 to 1000 meters per second squared in an instant.

Images and smells, words and sounds slid through his overtired mind while an undertone of black tinted everything, which then turned his world into shadows that moved and changed in a heartbeat. There was an imperturbable darkness that shrouded all that was in his mind, in his heart, in his soul.

His heart's rhythm sped up again, his throat became constricted, and his breathing grew shallower and more ragged – more savage than usual. His knuckles were white in the gloom of the bedroom as he gripped the duvet cover that encased him, suffocated him.

As if reliving everything again, he remembered the way his stomach seemed to disappear when Catherine had called, telling him –

The alarm on the bedside table went off, and the sound startled him from his thoughts. He slammed his semi-trembling hand down on to the clock, silencing it as he glared at his fingers which were twitching slightly. He swore softly under his breath, wondering how long it would take before they stopped this time.

He shoved the navy-blue duvet off of himself and swung his pj-bottomed legs over the edge of his bed, resting his forehead in his hands for a second. Not for the last time, he wished that they would stop shaking. He ran his right hand through his scruffy and tousled long hair. It was somewhat sticky from the gel that he hadn't washed out. He hadn't bothered. At the moment, he didn't care.

He glanced again at the clock and realized he had two hours before he had to go in to work, but then again … who said he couldn't call in sick? Of course, everyone would know that he wasn't coming in because –

Greg's cell phone rang.

He flicked it open and took a second to let the name on the display permeate his mind: Grissom.

"Hello?" Greg answered, wondering why his supervisor was calling him. It was slightly eerie that Gris was calling just seconds after Greg had thought of skipping work.

"Hey, Greg. How are you?"

Greg knew that was a loaded question, so he went for the tried and true answer: "Fine."

He knew that Grissom had completely disregarded his answer when he said, "Look, Greg, I'm calling to say that you've got the day off, if you want it."

"Did … did everyone get the day off?"

Grissom hesitated for barely a second before answering: "No."

Greg felt a rush of anger. "Then why am I the only one –"

"I'm not saying you have to take it," the older man interrupted wearily. "I'm just saying that you can have it if you want."

"Yeah, okay, fine. I will," Greg muttered. He knew he sounded ungrateful, but he couldn't help it. Everyone knew he was too weak to be able to cope with what happened. Everyone else appeared to be all right. Nick had been found a week ago. He had been rescued. He was on the mend. How could everyone be so cool, so collected while Greg …

"All right. Tomorrow, however, is a regular work day."

"Okay," Greg replied. He said goodbye and hung up, letting the black cell phone slip through his fingers and land on the bed.

If everyone had thought he'd been shaken after that night, then they would probably want him to take another week off if they could see him now. Hands trembling and bags under his bloodshot eyes … Greg knew he looked like the personification of 'horrible'. He just couldn't help it.

There was this empty feeling inside of him. He didn't even know why it was there … it just was. He couldn't ignore it, and to his knowledge he couldn't get rid of it. An unaccountable terror lived inside that feeling and it thrived off every single doubt.

His hands shook a little bit harder.

Greg jumped to his feet, wondering if breakfast would be able to calm him down. Once in the depressingly messy kitchen, he realized that he wasn't hungry. His stomach seemed to be numb and it apparently didn't need any sustenance whatsoever, even though he hadn't consumed anything in about … thirteen hours or so.

He pulled out a dark wooden chair and sat down at the light beige table, his fingertips tapping erratically on the table-top. All that could be heard was the dripping of water in the sink and the soft plink as the droplet landed on the stack of dirty plates, dishes, and cutlery all thrown in there. Not even the sound of a car going by could be heard.

Greg had never heard a silence that was so … dead. The silence seemed to want to stifle him. It covered his ears, his mouth, his nose, suffocating him and cutting him off from reality. Letting his imagination run away with him, he could almost feel deathly chilled fingers that were nothing more than solid air wrapping steadily around his neck, tighter, tighter …

The radio on the counter by the microwave sprang into life as the green letters showed that it had now struck the hour. The silence was broken, shattered, destroyed. Wrecked and bleeding heavily, it retreated, crawling along the floor away from the loud radio.

"And next up in our three hour long music fest is 'You Found Me' by The Fray!" the radio jockey said. Greg almost didn't hear him. His mind was rushing, his heart beating in his ears. He could breathe now.

_I found God on the corner of 1__st__ and Amistad_

_Where the West was all but won_

_All alone, smokin' his last cigarette_

_I said, "Where you been?" He said, "Ask anything."_

_Where were you when everything was fallin' apart?_

_All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang_

_And all I needed was a call that never came _

_From the corner of1st and Amistad_

_Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me_

_Lyin' on the floor, surrounded, surrounded_

_Why'd you have to wait? _

_Where were you? Where were you?_

_Just a little late … you found me, you found me_

Completely nonplussed, Greg stared blankly at the radio. Those three stanzas echoed over and over in his mind, almost drowning out the rest of the song.

_Early mornin', the city breaks_

_I've been callin' for years and years and years and years_

_And you never left me no messages; y'never sent me no letters_

_You got some kind of nerve, takin' all I want_

Later on, Greg would swear that his heart had actually stopped beating for a second or two.

… some kind of nerve, takin' all I want …

Nick.

Greg hadn't actually said anything to Nick since they'd talked briefly in the hallway when the Texan was going to do that fateful trash-run.

"_How's it going?" Greg asked, looking down at Nick as they stood by the break room door._

"_Not bad," Nick said, "just about to leave."_

"_Lucky," Greg muttered. "I'm here doing nothing."_

"_Y'know … Hodges said something about wanting to play a board game. He mentioned it to me, but then I found pressing things to do elsewhere." Nick's deep, coffee brown eyes twinkled mischievously. "If I was you and I was really bored, I'd go look him up."_

_Greg beamed at the older man. "Thanks, Nick!" _

Those could have been the last words he'd ever uttered to Nick. That would've been it. No other chance to say … to say anything. Nothing about Greg's deepest and innermost thoughts and feelings, feelings that he tried so hard to ignore. No … if they hadn't ended up finding the Texan, then Greg, along with his feelings, would have shriveled up and died too. Life without Nick would've been too hard to handle. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

But they had found him. He was recuperating in a hospital somewhere, probably with Catherine or Warrick by his side. Or he was sleeping off the terrible ordeal. Greg didn't know for sure what Nick was doing right now. He hadn't gone to see the Texan yet. He didn't know if he could do it.

There was something unsettling about seeing a person as strong as Nick lying in a hospital bed. He probably wouldn't even be able to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he would most likely still feel like he was trapped in that plexi-glass box that was meant to be his coffin. Maybe now, Nick was awake, thinking about everything that he could've lost. Everyone he could've never spoken to again …

Greg's cell phone rang for a second time, and his heart leapt into his throat. There'd already been one uncanny incident involving his cell phone earlier today – what if this time it was Nick calling –?

Eagerly Greg jumped to his feet and raced into his bedroom, dived on the bed, and scrambled to answer the call. His fingers fumbled as they flipped the cell open, his tongue going slightly numb. Maybe – maybe –

"Hello?" he said, his mouth almost completely dry.

An automated woman's voice greeted him, saying that he was almost over his minutes for the month and that he should buy some more soon, before he ran out completely.

Greg shut the phone with a snap and hurled it back on to the bed, bitter disappointment and anger coursing through his body. Why would Nick call him, anyways? Sure, they were work buddies, but they never spent any time together outside of their job. In amidst everything that had happened to him, Nick probably forgot all about Greg.

Kicking the bed with his bare foot, Greg got no relief from the fury still seeping through his veins. He couldn't even say why he was so mad. Maybe it was the fact that Nick had almost died and he hadn't said anything to him since the whole thing began.

_There's an easy way to fix that, you know …_ a voice in the back of Greg's mind whispered to him. He ignored the voice. He couldn't go see Nick. Maybe the Texan didn't even want him there. There were probably a lot of people visiting him anyways. Nick might be sleeping. Or …

_Stop making excuses_, the voice murmured, this time much louder and stronger.

_Go._

But –

Greg took a deep breath and turned on his heel before the voice could even say another word. He was soon out the door, car keys clutched in his trembling hand as he got into his car. He didn't know what would happen, but he knew that Nick was his friend and that he should be there for the older man. That's what friends were for, even if the two people in question weren't the best of buds.

The door to Nick's hospital room was closed. Greg just stood there, staring at it dumbly. Why had he gone here, again? Oh … right, he thought as the voice tutted rudely. He was there to see Nick, even though Nick hadn't called him or invited him to come or anything.

Greg actually snorted out loud at that thought. Why should Nick have to invite over a friend to visit him while he's lying in the hospital? What a stupid thing to think.

Roughly, he reached out for the doorknob, the metal feeling cool and soothing underneath his palm. His whole body seemed to be waiting, his mind buzzing. Would he actually open the door? He braced himself silently, getting ready for whatever sight he would see when he slowly swung the door inwards.

He gripped the handle harder and turned it.

Even with his internal pep-talk about being ready for whatever he would see when he entered the room, Greg wasn't primed for what happened. Nothing could have prepared him.

Nick was sitting up in bed, a black Xbox controller in his hands, his tongue sticking out from between his lips on the right side of his mouth as he played Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. His hands and arms were still swollen and red due to the ant bites, but they looked like they were healing quite well. He paused the game quickly when he heard someone enter the room, and his eyebrows came together slightly as he looked at Greg.

"Hey, G. I didn't expect to see you anytime soon."

Greg stared. He couldn't help it. He had envisioned Nick sleeping while terrible dreams of imprisonment until death haunted his sleeping hours. Greg had thought that he might've pulled up a chair beside Nick's hospital bed, and if the Texan awoke with a jerk, tears pouring from his eyes, Greg would've been there to comfort him.

Nick playing CoD:MW, however …

"I, uh, yeah. Um, decided to stop by and say hi. 'Cause I was um, in the neighborhood," Greg stammered after he realized that he hadn't said anything in response for a couple of seconds.

With an obvious glance at the clock on his bedside table, Nick asked, "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Aren't you supposed to, I dunno, need a shoulder to cry on?" Greg almost said, but he didn't. Instead, he shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed in the middle of the room, pulled up a chair, and sat.

"I was told not to come in to work today, so maybe … I thought you might've wanted someone to hang out with. Or something."

The Texan put down the controller and turned to gaze steadily at Greg. "Why were you told not to go in to work?"

Greg kicked himself for even mentioning it. He should've said that he'd taken the day off for some random reason. Saying that he'd been told not to go in to work … it didn't reflect too well on him. He scanned through a couple different excuses in his mind, but then Greg realized he didn't want to lie to Nick. He trusted the Texan.

"It's just … I …" Greg stopped and tried again. "I was really freaked out. About what happened to you a week ago. I took that whole week off because I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I just lied at home, trying to … to get back on my feet but I couldn't. I guess Grissom knew I still wasn't ready to come back to work, so he gave me the day off. He said that I have to come in tomorrow though."

Nick said nothing. He just looked at Greg, and the younger man felt like he was being scrutinized. It felt as if Nick could see everything he was holding back. All those feelings, all those thoughts, all those words Greg wished he could say. He knew that the Texan for sure saw the tinged purple and blue skin underneath his fatigued eyes, along with his shaking hands that were clasped together in his lap.

Nick decided to focus on Greg's hands. "How long have they been shaking?" he asked.

"Since … since about an hour after you were found. They – they stop shaking after a while, but it just comes back. I can't go back to work until they stop … and I don't want to tell Grissom about it," Greg replied quietly, his eyes downcast. He glared at his trembling hands, knowing that he was weak. If he ever wanted to go back to work, they would have to stop shaking and fast.

"Gris would understand –"

"He understood before, but that was a different circumstance. I'd been blown up in a lab explosion. This … this is completely different. I just – I'm just too –" Greg's voice died in his throat.

"You're not weak," Nick told him softly, correctly guessing what Greg had been about to say.

Greg snorted derisively but said nothing. He knew otherwise.

Subconsciously, Nick rubbed his wrists, and Greg looked up. He couldn't help it. The Texan looked so beaten up; so bruised and broken that it was unbearable.

"No, Greg," Nick said firmly, still rubbing his arm. "That doesn't make you weak."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because I – I …" the Texan sighed, lowering his gaze from Greg's eyes. "I know how you feel."

Greg couldn't see how that was possible. No one Nick had really cared about had ever had anything terrible happen to him or her. Well, except for that woman he'd been interested in all those years ago …

Noticing his disbelief, Nick cleared his throat and said, "Yeah, I do know how you feel. I felt the same way and reacted the same way when you were in that explosion."

For the second time in one day, Greg felt his heart stop beating altogether. His body felt strange, abnormal, unreal without the steady rhythm. He felt like a ghost trapped in the normal realm.

Something must've shown in his face, because Nick smiled faintly and said, "It's true."

"I don't un – under –" Greg stopped and tried a different approach. "I don't get it."

Nick's eyebrows contracted once more, his eyes darkening to the shade of a twilight shadow. He seemed to be considering something.

"Well, there's really not a lot to get," he finally said, exhaling slowly. He lowered his gaze to the controller on top of the hospital bed coverlet, near his right thigh, and sighed again. "I guess … I felt like— like I'd taken everything for granted, s'all."

Greg waited, his heart drumming quickly in his chest. It seemed to be going faster and faster. But, no – Nick must mean something different. It couldn't be anything …

_But God, please, let it be something._

Nick continued to stare at the controller, still occasionally rubbing his arm. After a moment or two, he raised his eyes to meet Greg's gaze.

"I guess I took you for granted," he said quietly, his accent becoming more pronounced, and Greg could tell that he was trying to keep himself in check, holding back emotions.

"How so?" Greg asked, his voice almost hoarse.

_Please …_

The older man took a deep breath and expelled it quickly. In a rush, he said, "I never realized how much I cared about you before you were in that explosion. I never realized how much I'd miss you if anything happened to you. After the whole incident, after I'd gone home for the day, I sat at my kitchen table thinking about how if you'd died, I'd never get to hear your voice again. I'd never be able to be near you. I'd never … I'd never see you again. I just – I couldn't –" Nick raised his hand to his mouth, trying to stop his chin from trembling, but it was a lost cause. He gave up, and stared determinedly at the ceiling, blinking furiously.

Without looking at Greg, Nick continued in a voice thick with unshed tears, "I'm sorry that it took so long for me to tell you."

Greg felt a lump in his throat, but he ignored it. He gently reached forward to hold Nick's hands in his own. He could feel the large ant bites against his skin, but more importantly, he could feel the older man trembling.

"No, Nick," he said softly, "I'm sorry it took me so long to come see you. It's been a week and every second of that week's been spent thinking about you. About how much I missed you. About how much I loved your eyes, your words, your voice. Your accent. How much I loved you. How I knew I've loved you for years. I'm sorry it took you being broken to bring me here."

Nick's eyes brimmed over with tears and he didn't even bother to try to stem them. They cascaded like a stream down from his beautiful brown irises on to the coverlet of the bed, and on to his and Greg's joined hands.

_Why'd you have to wait to find me, to find me?_


End file.
